


Dia de los Muertos (Day of the Dead)

by molo (esteefee)



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, April Showers Challenge, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, zine story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-19
Updated: 2006-10-18
Packaged: 2017-10-17 10:58:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/176155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/pseuds/molo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shades from the past shadow the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cover Art

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ccwriter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ccwriter/gifts).



> Originally published as an independent zine for SHareCon 2006.

  



	2. Dia de los Muertos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to CC for the beta and production assistance.

  


_October 27, 1979_

Hutch kept his eyes closed and breathed quietly and evenly, feigning sleep as he felt Starsky roll out of bed and sneak out toward the living room. The heat of Indian summer hung heavy in the room, and Hutch could feel the sweat of their recent exertion lingering on his skin.

His eyes were still shut tight when the faint sound of the door closing snapped them open again. His heart gave a brief pang, making him exhale sharply to ease the pressure. He didn't know why Starsky always left, any more than he understood what circumstances were needed to bring them together in the first place, except it always seemed inevitable, an easy sliding together after a few beers in the quiet dusk after work. No words were needed beforehand, and afterward...Starsky always left.

For some reason they never got together this way at Starsky's. And that should have been enough of a clue for Hutch, except he was never any good at analyzing the whys and hows of being with someone. He always toppled helplessly into relationships, and tended to be confused when it all fell apart.

As it always did.

Hutch sighed again and rolled over, stretching his arms under the cool of his pillow. It still smelled of the blend of Starsky's musk and aftershave, the most familiar scent in his life, the undercurrent to his every moment.

The thought was reassuring, and he fell asleep.

~oOo~

Running. Too fast, the breath harsh and hot in his dry throat as he led the chase using the longer stretch of his legs. Starsky was trailing close behind him, though; Hutch could feel his partner, better than he could hear the light tread of the blue sneakers, all but drowned out by the pounding of his heart.

The suspect, Leonard Schnell, still had a good twenty feet on them, but Hutch saw the man’s stride falter, and he knew it was only a matter of time before they caught up with the lowlife.

This was the danger point. Schnell was still armed and dangerous as hell, and soon he'd realize they were closing in. Any second now he would turn, vicious as a cornered badger, and bring his gun to bear.

The Magnum thumped once against Hutch's leg as he ran. He could shoot Schnell, of course. Either of them could have brought down the rat before he'd gotten ten steps. But Schnell knew the boy's location, and they couldn't risk killing the man, or even knocking him out, without getting the information out of him first.

 _Any second...any second now..._ He heard Starsky grunt behind him and stumble with a scuffing sound, but Hutch couldn't risk taking his eye off of Schnell, who was closer now, Hutch was almost on him—

Suddenly, Schnell dodged right, hurling himself behind the scanty cover of an old, rusty refrigerator, and Hutch braked and skittered right as well to hug the wall next to a dumpster, yelling, "Starsk!"

The Magnum was sweaty in Hutch's hand from the long chase, but he brought it up, waiting, and spared a quick glance backward.

Starsky was exposed, just scrambling to his feet, the knees torn out of his jeans.

 _Shit!_ Hutch angled away from the wall to offer cover. He could just pick out the guy's ankles through a gap in the metal. "Drop the gun, Schnell. Do it, or—"

The answer was a crack of gunfire, and Hutch shot at the edge of the perp's hiding place, hoping to brush him back. There was a muffled curse, and Schnell stopped shooting. Hutch dodged back into cover, giving his forearm a painful scrape against the dumpster. He looked back.

Starsky had made his way to the wall and was limping toward him.

"That's two, Lenny. How many you got, crumb?" Starsky yelled, sounding unfazed by his fall.

Hutch's smile was a grimace, and he panted heavily as he turned back toward Schnell.

"Still got enough to kill the both of yas, twice," the perp shouted. Hutch sensed Starsky's tension, felt the press of his partner against his left shoulder. He could just barely see the flicker of Leonard's white socks framed by the rusted-out hole, and Hutch pointed silently. Starsky nodded, his chin bumping Hutch's collarbone. It was a tough shot. Much better suited to the Beretta than the power of the Magnum, which would more likely shred the rusty heap, sending shrapnel flying.

And they needed the suspect alive. The boy was counting on them, not to mention Teo's panicked parents, who had camped out at the squad, their many relatives bringing home-cooked bribes to keep the detectives on the case fed and working.

"You've got lousy aim, Lenny. You already proved that. Why don't you just give it up and save us the trouble of shooting you dead?" Hutch spoke loudly and evenly, while at his side, Starsky braced his elbow against Hutch's arm and took a careful bead. Hutch felt him hold his breath.

"You ain't gonna kill me, pigs. Not if you want the boy back. You ain't never gonna find him—"

Starsky fired. Two quick shots, a wicked stutter of sound, resulting in a high-pitched squeal.

"Yeah," Starsky said quietly, his voice full of satisfaction.

Schnell crashed to the ground screaming, his gun skittering out of his hand to rest a few feet away. Hutch pushed off from the wall and moved, Starsky close behind, and kicked the gun further from the perp’s groping hand.

Hutch was still panting heavily, he realized as he turned to face his partner, who was busy pulling Lenny's hands away from his ankle so he could cuff him. Hutch's eyes dropped to the shredded knees of Starsky's jeans, and the blood there.

"Guess you got a bad case of banana heels, huh?" Hutch said, still feeling the adrenaline. He blotted the sweat from his brow with his shoulder, then absently brushed the slivers of rust from his forearm.

Starsky spared him a scowling look. "I think it _was_ a banana."

Hutch laughed softly and bent to pick up the gun.

~oOo~

It took a mere five minutes—Lenny crying for an ambulance the entire time—for them to break the information out of him. They found little Teo just as promised, in a small, pre-fabricated aluminum shack on the property of Schnell's absent uncle. The boy was pale, dehydrated, and hungry, but otherwise unscathed. Except, of course, for the marks the ropes had bitten into his wrists and ankles, and the terror in his eyes.

Hutch knew it would never really go away.

For him, either. He would never forget that look, but it was balanced, somehow, by the tearful relief and joy on the faces of Teo's parents when they came rushing into the Emergency Room, extended family in tow. They were given a few minutes to hug and kiss their prodigal before getting brushed out into the waiting area by the nurses.

Starsky was all charm, withstanding the grateful kisses of Teo's mother and aunts with his usual aw-shucks grin. Their thanks to Hutch were more reserved, and then Teo's father, Mr. Tezcatlipoca, came over and solemnly shook his hand in turn.

"Thank you, Detective. More thanks than I can give with my weak and useless words."

Hutch dropped his eyes, proud and yet embarrassed by the man's gratitude. He never knew how to handle this part. Starsky would've smiled and said something perfect. Hutch looked over, but his partner was mired in a circle of Teo's uncles, cousins and aunts.

"It's my job, Mr...ah, Mr. Tezcat-lipoca." Hutch grimaced at his hesitation, but the man smiled and grasped his hand again, this time just holding it.

"Please, call me Atl. You have saved more than my son's life," he said, his face turning grave. "You have saved me from spilling another man's blood. Because if anything had happened to Teo...."

Hutch understood, better than Tezcatlipoca could imagine. Hutch remembered Gunther, and the moment at his arrest when Hutch's need for true justice had battled his rage at the man who had almost succeeded in killing his partner.

"What is the origin of your name and accent?" Hutch asked to change the subject. He took back his hand and rubbed his forearm absently before letting down his cuff to cover the scratches.

"Ah. We are _Mexica_. What some people used to call 'Aztec.' I brought my family here from Oaxaca."

The name stirred an uneasy memory, and Hutch turned his eyes to the small crowd. "All of them?" They seemed to sense his attention, because a few of them looked over with dark eyes. They were matched by a pair of dark blue that flashed at him for just a moment. Something in that glance made Hutch swallow dryly and wonder what the rest of the night might hold in store.

He realized Atl had been speaking, something about a celebration the next evening, a yearly festival that had been planned long before Teo's abduction.

"Now we will have much more to celebrate," Atl said, and his brown eyes crinkled with joy. "It is _el Dia de los Muertos_ , when we honor the departed, and celebrate the renewal of life in our children."

"Mr....Atl," Hutch said uneasily, "it's possible that Teo won’t be recovered enough...I mean, emotionally," he added when Atl looked concerned. "Physically, he should be fine, but—"

Atl shook his head. "Believe me, Detective, my son is strong. It's in our blood. Enough of it has been shed throughout the centuries that those of us who remain are resilient, indeed." Atl looked sternly proud, but Hutch couldn't so easily accept that Teo wouldn't be traumatized by his experience.

"Hutch." Starsky was at his elbow. "We've been invited to a party—"

"I know. We'd better take off now, though." Hutch offered his hand for a last time to Tezcatlipoca, who once again didn't shake it, instead holding it in a firm grip.

"You will come to the Day of the Dead?"

The words gave Hutch a chill, and he shrugged weakly. "If we aren't on a case—"

"Good." Atl turned to Starsky. "Thank you again, Detective Stark...Starsky."

"You're welcome, Mr. Tezak..tezcat...."

"...lipoca," Hutch finished for him, and tugged on Starsky's shoulder. "Goodbye." He could feel Atl's eyes following them as they left the room.

"Well, that was terrific," Starsky said. "Those ladies are something else, you know? They said they're gonna call me 'Yaotl' from now on. It means 'warrior.'" He shot Hutch a sly grin.

"That's nice," Hutch said dully, still feeling chilled and strangely light-headed. He started moving faster, eager to get back to Metro and write up their report. And then...bed.

~oOo~

Hutch looked up from his typing, certain Starsky was eyeballing him, but Starsky's eyes were staring over his head. His feet were propped up on the desk, his hands laced behind his head as he looked up dreamily.

"Yaotl...Yaotl..." he said.

"Yes, yes. Great warrior. I got it. What's the Aztec word for 'klutz,'" Hutch snapped edgily. "And did you manage to get those scrapes cleaned up? That was a filthy alley."

"Yes, Mother," Starsky drawled. "A nice nurse hosed me down with betadine and fixed me up good."

"Good," Hutch repeated.

 _Detective Starsky got off two clean shots, wounding Mr. Schnell, who fell, dropping his weapon_ , he typed rapidly. _I retrieved the pistol, and my partner cuffed the suspect and read him his Miranda rights. Mr. Schnell responded to the affirmative when asked if he understood them. We then asked him for the location of the young boy. After a few minutes of discussion, Mr. Schnell gave us the location on his uncle's property at 1222 Olivera Street. We called for an ambulance and a black and white, and then proceeded to retrieve Teo Tezcatlipoca from his place of imprisonment...."_

"...And lots of candy."

"What?" Hutch pulled the report from the typewriter and gave it a quick once-over.

"Day of the Dead, Hutch. It's like Halloween, only creepier. I remember from when one of my school pals invited me over."

"Here. Sign this," Hutch said shortly, not wanting to get into an argument about whether or not they would be attending the party. He knew Starsky would want to—it was the kind of activity he would adore, hand-in-hand with monster movies and Milk Duds. But Hutch had once spent late October down in Mexico with Vanessa, and the memory wasn't a pleasant one. The arguments and ill feelings had culminated on the night of the parade down to the cemetery. Hutch could still taste the bitter dust of that evening. And the bile in his throat when he'd realized he'd made a horrible mistake and married the wrong person.

"Hutch? Comin'?"

 _The wrong person._ Hutch stared into Starsky's eyes for a long moment. Lately, ever since the shooting, his partner had seemed a different person. One minute full of frenetic energy, the next dark and moody. Hutch could never tell which flavor he'd be getting.

Tonight, it seemed, he was going to get the newest variation, because Starsky had caught the look and was staring back, heat shimmering in the blue. He blinked once, slowly, and Hutch felt fire catch in his groin.

"Ready to go?" Starsky said, his voice rough and a little unsteady.

 _Or maybe the right person. Maybe he's all the people I need._

 _If only I knew how to make him stay._

~oOo~

Starsky's lips danced down to Hutch's chin, then veered off to nibble along his jaw line.

"What're you up to?" Hutch whispered, and then clamped his mouth shut again when Starsky tweaked his nipple. Starsky didn't like him talking when they were doing this.

Not that Hutch was much of a talker in bed, usually because he liked to use his mouth for other things. But Starsky had pinned him down as soon as he got his clothes off, and Hutch had felt strangely lethargic, unwilling or unable to resist. He felt almost as if he had a fever, only his joints didn't ache. But he could feel the prickling of sweat beading his forehead and chest, and Starsky's tongue seemed almost cool against his throat.

"Uhhhh. God." The fingers playing with Hutch's nipples had drifted south to capture his cock. They squeezed hard, once, warning him to silence. He flashed on a dusty road, the bobbing of lit candles, and a shrine covered with flowers. _Please,_ he whispered in his mind.

Starsky's lips moved down to his chest, and Hutch shuddered when wicked teeth caught his nipple, biting gently. His head sank back, and he felt Starsky's hand brushing his throat, closing in a fragile grip as if to keep him down and still.

When Starsky's mouth sank over his cock, Hutch knew why.

He tried not to moan out loud, trapping his tongue between his teeth as Starsky raised his head, letting the air kiss Hutch's heated cock. His hips lifted involuntarily, but Starsky's mouth had abandoned him.

Instead, Starsky crawled up over him, the lean, muscular legs forcing Hutch's apart so he could drop between them, his erection burning a path up Hutch's thigh and over his balls until finally he stopped moving and pressed downward. He stared down into Hutch's eyes, his own, heavy lids half-open and his beautiful mouth tight with need.

Hutch wanted to whisper something tender, to kiss the mouth soft again. But there was something stern in Starsky's face, something that kept Hutch silent. Still, he couldn't contain the moan that escaped him, and Starsky swallowed it, along with Hutch's tongue, as he began moving slow, heat against heat, until Hutch's head was swimming in pleasure.

Parched, he drank from Starsky's lips. Hutch tried to raise his arms to hold him closer, but they felt leaden. He couldn't do anything but lie there, poised on the pinnacle, waiting for Starsky to have mercy and push him over with his grinding, frantic thrusts.

When Hutch came, it almost burned him alive.

~oOo~

He awoke, the memory of clay dust in his mouth. A touch of cool air was brushing him, drying his sweat. Starsky had already left, of course. Feeling strangely energized, Hutch took a quick shower and then did some things around the apartment, tidying up until a glance at the clock surprised him. It was already 5:20 a.m. He briefly considered trying to go back to sleep for an hour, but knew it would be pointless. Instead, he suited up and went for a run.

The Indian summer hadn't broken, but it was early enough that the sun didn't yet have the upper hand. He aimed himself down to the ocean, and jogged on the cement pathway curling along the sand.

It was in his nature to count, to analyze, to dissect motives and facts and circumstances. But, something about this new development with Starsky eluded Hutch's powers of reasoning. Every time he tried to think about it, even to go back to the first night and pin down its origins, he felt weak and foggy and afraid.

And guilty. Somehow he got the feeling he'd done or said something, that first time, to make Starsky leave the way he had. Whatever it was, it had somehow set the pattern, and Hutch felt helpless to break it.

One central image stayed in his memory, of Starsky kissing him, saying, " _Don't say anything_ ," then leaning on one elbow to stare down at him. Hutch had been half-asleep, and had wanted to reach up and touch the look he saw on Starsky's face in that moment, freeze it so he could understand it somehow.

The thought triggered another memory, and he heard the music of guitars and folk singing, and saw a skeleton swaying high on a pole above him.

Hutch made it as far as Venice Pier before turning to jog back, the cool breeze now in his face so it lifted the sweaty hair from his forehead and neck. A quick shower was in order after he got home, and then he slid into his sky blue Galaxy and sped to Metro.

Starsky had beaten him there.

~oOo~

"Dobey says Schnell copped a plea. Twenty years, and every one of them the hard way—he's going to the State Pen."

"That's great, Starsk." Hutch's pencil had fled under his desk, and he groped after it. By the time he'd retrieved it he felt hot and sweaty again. He swiped a palm over his forehead and sighed.

"You okay? You look kinda...peaked." Starsky tilted his head, his lips curling a little.

"Peaked? Did you say _peaked_ , Auntie Em?" Hutch grinned at the fierce look Starsky gave him. "Well, I rightly guess I _am_ a little peaked. Who knows, maybe next I’ll be having conniptions."

Starsky growled something low in response and snagged Hutch's coffee, finishing it off in three long gulps.

"Let's hit the road, Dorothy."

In the Torino, Hutch cranked down the passenger window until it was wide open, and stuck his head out momentarily to catch the full wind.

When he dropped back in his seat, Starsky said, "Seriously, Hutch, are you okay? You look kinda sick." He sounded concerned.

"I'm...it's the heat," Hutch said weakly. "Aren't you feeling it?"

"Nope." Starsky flashed him a heart-stopping grin. "But then, my people aren't from the same area, if you know what I mean. Not a frigid Viking gene in the lot."

"Get serious," Hutch muttered sarcastically. But he didn't argue the point. Truth was, he did feel a little off. But it was nothing that would hamper him on the job.

Not that it ended up mattering. They patted down Shorty Berkowitz and found a couple of extra wallets on him. They rousted Angel Ray, hoping to get the latest location of Eileen's Floating Massage parlor, but no go. They bugged Huggy for some leads on the jewelry store heist that had left a security guard dead, but for once Huggy came up dry. A rarity, but since they combined the visit with dinner, no big loss.

Hutch ordered the Chef's Salad, barely picking at it. His appetite had left with the onset of his strange lassitude, and his early morning was also starting to wear on him. When Starsky brought up the Day of the Dead party, Hutch told him where he could get off.

"Forget it, Starsk. You can go on your own."

It seemed to pull Starsky up short for some reason. "What, you mean, without you?"

"Yes! Without me. That's what 'on your own' means." Hutch poked at his salad and half-heartedly speared a sliver of ham. It was on its way to his mouth when he suddenly felt nauseated and put down his fork. He looked up to see Starsky staring at him.

"You're sick, huh? That's why."

"I'm not sick. It's this damned heat." Hutch lifted the collar of his shirt away from his chest and fanned himself with it. Starsky’s face had a concerned frown. Hutch looked around, and saw that everyone else in the place looked completely comfortable. Some were even wearing jackets.

"Blintz...."

"You know, maybe that party would be fun after all," Hutch said hastily, hoping to distract. It worked like a charm. Starsky's face lit up like a birthday cake. He started gabbling about Teo and his aunts, and their plans to do the whole deal, from eating candy skulls to a march through the cemetery.

They both thanked Huggy for dinner and then got back on the road. Hutch logged them out over the radio and rested against the door, idly watching the wheel moving under Starsky's sure grip.

Starsky's grip...on his body, on his ass, holding, squeezing, pulling him in close....Hutch lifted his shirt collar again, ruffling it before swiping at the dampness on his chest with his fingertips. He wanted to say something, to ask Starsky seriously, for once, what was happening between them, but the thoughts didn't make it as far as his mouth, and instead he closed his eyes to rest, feeling unbearably tired.

"Mr. T!" Starsky called as he got out of the car. Tezcatlipoca was striding to meet them, a white grin on his face. Hutch climbed out a little more slowly. His neck felt stiff from resting awkwardly against the window on the long drive to Glendale.

"Hey, Mrs. T., I like your dress," Starsky said, giving Mrs. Tezcatlipoca a hug while Hutch shook Atl's hand.

"I'm so glad you came, Detective," he said. His smile was warm. His hand felt cool in Hutch's.

"Please, Atl, call me Hutch."

Just then a whirlwind rushed out of the front door of the house to careen into Starsky, hugging him around the waist. Teo was grinning from ear to ear.

"Hey, Teo," Starsky said, ruffling the boy's black hair. "You look like you're feeling better."

Teo nodded and grabbed Starsky's hand, tugging him impatiently toward the house. The adults trailed behind, laughing.

Inside, the partners were converged upon by various relatives. Everyone wanted to shake Hutch's hand all over again. The press of bodies made him feel faint, and he begged a glass of water.

"Oh, I think we can do better," Atl said. He handed Hutch a dark bottle. The black beer was bitter and chilled Hutch's throat to perfection.

Starsky was already elbow-deep in candy, with Teo chattering at him, telling him about the celebration and showing him the flower-covered miniature coffin they'd made for the parade at the cemetery. The living room was decorated with colorful streamers, and the heavy scent of the flowers was threatening to trigger Hutch's allergies.

"Your Captain Dobey tells me that man, Schnell, will not stand trial." Atl's dark eyes glittered at Hutch over his drink.

"He'll be doing hard time," Hutch reassured him. "State Pen all the way. Men of his...type...get pretty rough treatment in there."

"Good," Tezcatlipoca said, his voice filled with grim satisfaction.

Hutch made his way over to the food, but his appetite was still only in his eyes, and the smell had him veering toward the bar for another of the dark beers. He found a quiet corner and sat to observe the festivities. The women were adding candles to the coffin, and Teo was holding a pole while Starsky attached a papier-mâché skeleton to the top using a hook and some wire.

"We go," Atl said, touching Hutch's shoulder. Hutch jolted out of his daze with a start and looked up questioningly.

"Most of my ancestors are buried in Xoxocotlán, the village cemetery in Oaxaca," Atl said. "But my grandmother and my father's brother are here at Forest Lawn. We go." Atl nodded at the door. Hutch realized everyone else had already filtered outside. He rose stiffly and followed, his thoughts a clamor of dismay.

 _Forest Lawn. Jesus, that's where Van is._ He felt suddenly overwhelmed, and wished desperately that he'd brought his own car so he could leave. He thought longingly of his bed back at Venice, and the cool, clean sheets....

~oOo~

In the Torino, as they followed the convoy of vehicles, Starsky looked over at him questioningly once or twice, but didn't say anything. Hutch shifted in his seat, feeling increasingly more uncomfortable. The flu he guessed he'd been fighting had finally hit him full force. His arm was sore where it lay on the arm rest, and he moved it to his lap.

They pulled into the cemetery. They were last, and the family had already piled out of their cars and were lighting candles—hundreds of them, it looked like. Teo proudly waved his skeleton at Starsky.

"C'mon, Hutch, we'll walk with the kid."

But Hutch hung back. To his right, he could see the lighted path that led to the 'Glade of Solace,' the area of the park where Van had been laid to rest.

"Tonight we honor the dead, Hutch," Atl said at his side. "You look like a man who has lost much, for one so young."

Somehow, it didn't surprise Hutch that Atl had picked up on his thoughts.

"My ex-wife is buried here," Hutch admitted.

"Ah. I am sorry. But this is good chance that brings you here with us tonight. Take these." He pushed some flowers and a lit candle into Hutch's hands. "You must honor her. Then Michtecacihuatl, the Lady of the Dead, will watch over her."

 _Honor her._ Yes, Hutch supposed that was right. For everything else she had been—thief, conspirator, liar—she'd also been his wife. Once, he had loved her. Part of him did, still.

Hutch nodded his thanks and turned away from the parade that was forming, making his way slowly up the path. He felt weak, and held the flowers closer to his body, shielding the guttering flame from the mild breeze. He walked into the small glade.

It was here, somewhere, on the far wall of small bronze doors—the tiny, two-foot square crypt in which he'd placed Van's ashes. He searched until he found it, shoulder-high on the far right row. He placed the flowers in the sconce provided, and wedged the candle in beside them.

Van. So beautiful, and vain of it. Her hunger was the clean, uncomplicated greed of a cat. Hutch could never satisfy her need for more—more of him, but especially more money, more material things. Finally, she had made a demand that he had to outright refuse.

A wave of dizziness took him, and he rested his palm against the wall, dropping his head. He felt a solid presence by his side, and a hand gripping his arm. But Hutch was focused on the small bronze plaque, and the raised letters there.

Vanessa Childs-Hutchinson

April 13, 1945 - February 23rd, 1978

"I can't give you what you need," Hutch murmured the words from his memory. "I can't promise you anything."

"I know," Starsky said. His voice was tight, almost angry. Hutch turned toward him in surprise.

"What?" he shook his head, confused.

"You _told_ me already." Starsky's eyes telegraphed a painful vulnerability. "That first night." He shrugged, his face growing set. "It's okay. Like I told you then—you don't have to say anything."

"That's not...Starsky." Heat flashed through Hutch's body, and he leaned harder against the wall. "It was V-van I was t-talking to..." he stuttered. Suddenly, his jaw locked up in a spasm. He panicked when he realized he couldn't open it. The world tilted sideways.

 _Why am I on my knees?_ He felt the cool stone, and realized he was gripping Starsky's jacket, and Starsky's arm was around him, holding him up. He had no memory of falling.

"Hutch! Jesus, you're burning up." One of Starsky's hands moved to his face and palmed his cheek.

 _He sounds scared. Good thing. I'm scared, too._ His body was trembling, but he could move his mouth again.

"Something's...wrong. Feel sick."

"No shit, Sherlock. C'mon, let's get you to a hospital." Starsky heaved him to his feet, and Hutch held on, standing on wavering legs.

They left the glade. Hutch was vaguely aware of the iron grip Starsky had around his waist as they stumbled down the path, and then he was in the familiar interior of the Torino, and the broken spring in the passenger seat, the one he always tried to avoid, was digging into his ass.

That was the last thing he knew.

~oOo~

Starsky drove with one eye on his partner and one eye on the onrushing road. He'd already flipped on the Mars light and had radioed to get the location of the nearest hospital. Beside him on the seat, Hutch had regained consciousness and was murmuring incoherently.

Frustrated, Starsky slammed one palm down on the steering wheel. He'd known something was up with Hutch, and was angry at himself for not pursuing it. But he was even angrier at the Blintz for denying it.

As if he sensed the accusation, Hutch started babbling an apology.

"Sorry. I'm sorry...didn't know."

"Liar," Starsky said. Fond exasperation crept into his voice, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Hutch roll his head toward him.

"It wasn't you I was talking to. It was Van," Hutch mumbled.

"What do you mean, Hutch?"

Hutch gave a sad sigh. "From our last fight. In Oaxaca. You remember? We went...vacation."

 _Vacation? Oh, yeah._ Shortly before his break-up with Vanessa, Hutch had gone on vacation with her to Mexico. It was the last time Hutch had taken a vacation without Starsky.

"She was so happy down there, you know?" Hutch laughed bitterly, then groaned. Starsky spared a glance over and saw Hutch rub his sweaty face with one palm. He was flushed pink with fever. Starsky reached to the side and put one hand on the damp forehead, testing the heat before pushing away the wet strands clinging there. The glazed blue of Hutch's eyes was deeper than usual above his bright cheeks.

Hutch kept talking. "She loved it because a dollar travels a long way down there. She could spend and spend like a queen...her big ambition." He rushed on, as if trying to get the words out while he could. "I-I guess she got to l-love it too much, because she demanded I get another job—better pay. I always knew she liked...she liked _things_...owning stuff...but down there she finally said it to my face. Gave me...a...an...ultimatum. She wanted me to promise to quit the force." Hutch was agitated, rubbing his hands up and down his legs.

"Okay. It's okay. Just calm down, Hutch," Starsky said quietly, trying to soothe him. He reached out to pat the near shoulder, and Hutch grabbed his hand.

"I told her. I told _her_ , Starsk. Not you." Hutch groaned again and squeezed his hand hard. "I told her, 'I can't give you what you need. I can't promise you anything.'"

Starsky felt his jaw drop. _He was talking to_ her _. When I woke him up from that dream, when he was mumbling in his sleep. And all this time I thought he meant it for me, saying what he couldn't tell me when he was awake._

So much was clearer, all of a sudden. The way Hutch kept coming back to him, kept responding to him, in spite of the clear warning that first night.

Starsky gave a small groan of his own. "We're a couple of fools, you know that?"

"Fools. Fools dancing on the pole. Like skeletons on the hot, dusty road..." Hutch coughed.

The return to incoherency was alarming. Starsky looked at the road signs, trying to gauge how far they were from the hospital.

"She was the wrong one. She was the wrong person," Hutch said softly.

His palm was sweaty in Starsky's hand. Starsky squeezed back anyway. "You saying what I think you're saying, Blondie?"

But Hutch had passed out again.

~oOo~

A rush of voices, like a tornado in his ears and around his head. He groaned, the stiffness in his neck painful. His arm burned, and he tried to rub it, but couldn't seem to reach.

"What's this? What's he reaching for there?" The voice was strange.

"My arm," Hutch whispered, his throat dry. "Scraped it. In the alley."

A familiar voice said angrily, "Damn it, Hutch! Why didn't you say something?"

"Don't yell at my patient," the other man said, sounding amused. "Let's take a look."

Someone was tugging up his sleeve. Feebly, he tried to pull away.

"Hutch, quit it. Let the doctor look."

The probing of his sore arm was followed by a sharp pain, and Hutch clenched his teeth. He felt Starsky squeeze his shoulder.

The doctor said, "Ah, here's the culprit. Infection. Something’s embedded in here. When was his last tetanus shot?"

"Couple years ago, I think. He had some stitches in his hand one time, and the nurse—"

Hutch shook his head.

"No?"

"Only...antibi-biotics."

"Then we'd better get him a booster right away and start the rest of the treatment."

There was more talking, but Hutch was too tired to keep up. He finally got his eyes open and saw Starsky hovering—looking worried, but somehow happy.

"You're gonna be okay, babe. Bump in the road."

Hutch nodded, because it seemed to be what Starsky needed to see.

Then the doctor leaned over him, his dark hair hanging down. "Detective Hutchinson? I'm going to give you a tetanus booster now, okay? And I need to give you some other medications as well. I’ll start an IV. Then we need to debride the area of infection."

Hutch thought he nodded again, but when the doctor kept staring at him, he croaked, "Yeah."

"Okay."

Cold then, on his upper arm, and the bite of a needle, deep in the muscle. Then another prick in his hand. More needles. God, he hated needles.

"You'll be here about five days, Detective—"

"Hutch."

"Okay, Hutch. We need to treat the wound you've got here, and put you on intravenous antibiotics and some immune globulin for the tetanus. But it looks like we caught this in good time. Another day and you'd be in the ICU. You're lucky your friend brought you in."

"P-partner. Where?"

"He went to call someone, I think. Anyway, you rest up, now. I'll have an intern treat you and then take you to your room."

The doctor was gone. Hutch hadn't even caught his name.

They wheeled him off for treatment, doing painful things to him before tucking him into the sanctuary of a private room. He was glad for the privacy. Apparently they had more openings for sick people in Glendale.

He realized now that that was where he was. Things had gotten confusing for a while. He remembered being at the cemetery, and then talking to Starsky in the car about...skeletons.

 _God knows I have enough of them._ Van. Gillian. Even Starsky, in a way, for he had died for a short time, stopping Hutch's heart in the process. And the new Starsky only looked like the old.

As if summoned by Hutch's thought, Starsky came strutting in, looking pleased with himself.

"How you doing, schweetheart?" He came over to the side of Hutch's bed and put a hand on his good arm.

"Better." Hutch did feel better. His fever seemed down, and his neck didn't feel as tight. His arm still throbbed like a mother from the euphemistically termed 'debridement.’ Which pretty much felt like they'd removed all the flesh from his arm using a cheese-grater.

"Can I get some water?" he asked plaintively. He was gratified by the speed with which Starsky complied. Hutch followed his movements with pleasure. The way those ridiculously tight jeans shaped his firm ass and thighs... Hutch sighed.

"What's wrong?" Starsky held out the cup of water, and Hutch took it and drank, dragging it out as a stall tactic.

"I'm gonna be in here a while," he said at last.

"I know." Starsky put his hand on Hutch's arm again, patting it soothingly. "But you'll be out soon enough. And then...."

Hutch lifted one eyebrow at the pause.

Starsky leaned down and stroked the errant brow with his thumb. "And then...you're gonna give me what I _need_ , Hutch."

Hutch felt himself flush. He would've responded—with some heat—but at that moment the door burst open and the entire Tezcatlipoca clan came hustling in, their arms overflowing with flowers.

Hutch started sneezing.

~oOo~

Nervously, Hutch took one last look around his apartment. It was spotless. He'd recovered rapidly from the infection, but had to stay the requisite five days to complete the treatment. He'd gone stir-crazy in the hospital. By the time he got out, he'd been so full of nervous energy he'd spent his last day off of work whipping around the apartment in a cleaning frenzy. Starsky had called him from Metro to let him know he was coming over after signing out.

Hutch wasn't sure what was going on with his partner. The dark moodiness had disappeared, leaving behind the Starsky of a year ago. A Starsky of bouncing, boundless energy, and with it something sly and sweet. And teasing. He'd turned into an awful flirt when visiting Hutch in the hospital daily. But the flirting was nothing new. It was just there was a quality to it now, a seriousness underneath....

Which was why Hutch was so damned nervous, waiting for Starsky to come over.

There was a rap at the door and, with scarcely a delay, Starsky came swinging in, a brown paper bag in his hand.

"Come in," Hutch said, with light irony.

"Don't mind if I do, don't mind if I do," Starsky responded easily. He dropped the bag on the kitchen table, hesitated, picked it up again, and then disappeared into the bedroom.

"Starsk?"

"Just a sec," he called.

Hutch tried to ignore the strangeness. Strange was his partner's middle name. "What did Dobey say about...you know."

Starsky came back into the living room crumpling the empty bag. "He said, and I quote, 'Tell that blond moron that everything, _everything_ goes into the reports, including every bump, scratch and sniffle.' And then he muttered something really, really uncomplimentary about your heritage, Hutch."

"Hmmm. But no traffic duty?"

"Nope." Starsky walked over to the fridge and popped it open.

"Good. I don't think you could wedge me back into my uniform pants with a crowbar."

Starsky grabbed a beer and then turned to look him up and down. The examination continued just long enough for Hutch to feel his face begin to heat. Starsky smiled slowly.

"Just might like to try it, anyway."

"Oh, shut up." Hutch bumped by him to get a glass of water from the tap. He'd been thirsty for days, it seemed. Weeks, even. He drank the whole glass and set it on the counter.

The assault, when it came, was completely unexpected. Suddenly there was a warm, solid weight pressing up behind him, pushing him onto the edge of the sink, and two arms like a vise clamping around his waist, meeting at his belly. He felt Starsky nuzzle beneath the hair on his neck, the warm breath giving him a full-body shiver.

"Starsk." Hutch's voice went dry and thin.

"Mmm?"

Something hot and exceedingly stiff was pressing into the seam of his pants, pushing against the crack of his ass.

"Don't you think we should...t-talk about this?"

Starsky sighed, blowing moist air against Hutch's nape. "What's to talk about? Seems to me that talk is what got us into this mess in the first place."

"What mess?" Fear took a quick jab at Hutch's stomach. He moved a few steps sideways, pulling out of Starsky's grasp and turning to face him.

"Mess... _this_ mess. This whole schmear—me thinking you were telling me you couldn't promise me anything, that you couldn't really...be mine...." Starsky avoided his glance, looking uncommonly insecure.

Hutch took a step forward, pulled in by Starsky's expression. "Yours?" He felt confused. "I've always been. Always."

Starsky's answering smile was at least a thousand watts. "Oh, yeah?"

Hutch couldn't believe he was asking. "Don't be a dummy. I was just confused about...what happened that night. I didn't remember what I'd said."

Starsky took a half-step forward. "See?" He spread his hands. "What's to talk about?"

Hutch was close now—close enough to read the truth in the shining blue eyes. So he nodded, and was rewarded with a kiss, deep and soft, the kind of kiss he'd always wanted from Starsky. A lover's kiss, a seal. A promise of warmth, and of taking all the time they needed. Hutch's heart made a wild bid for freedom, trying to pound through the wall of his chest.

"So," Starsky said in a whisper when he pulled away. "Come to bed and prove it to me, babe."

"What," Hutch said as Starsky grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the bedroom, "and you don't have to promise?" He felt stupid as soon as the words escaped, but he couldn't help asking. And the smile Starsky tossed back was, if possible, even brighter.

"Yours, Hutch." He paused, then turned sly. "Every rock-solid inch. ‘M gonna show you."

Hutch was grateful for the dimness of the bedroom that hid his flush at the innuendo. At the same time, his heart was filling with joy. _Mine._ What an incredible concept, that he could claim Starsky whenever he wanted....

He tested the theory, reaching out to touch the arm that was tugging at him. He followed it up to the strong shoulder and closed his hand, turning Starsky so his back was to him. Then Hutch ran his fingers up into the thick, dark curls, tilting Starsky's head down so he could kiss and nuzzle the back of his neck.

Starsky gave a quiet moan. He said, his voice shaky, "That's the first time you've made a move on me, Hutchinson."

"Is it?" He nosed into the clean-smelling hair over Starsky's ear. Hutch thought back to all their joinings—heated, swift, always puzzling in their intensity. And always, Starsky had been the instigator. "Guess I've been waiting," Hutch said softly, "to be sure I'm welcome."

"Oh, you're welcome." He turned in Hutch's arms. "Can't wait, Hutch. Everything before has just been kids' games. This is gonna be the real deal." He tilted his head up and they shared a brief, sweet kiss. "Can't wait to show you...how I can love you." His voice was rough, low.

Hutch shook his head and caught the beloved face between his palms. "Me, first?" He didn't understand his own hesitancy; only that he'd been waiting too long, and too passively. He wanted this, wanted to have his chance to touch, to love. To sink inside a heat that would sustain him. He looked down into Starsky's eyes.

"Okay," Starsky said, seeming to understand. He quirked an evil grin. "But I'm next at bat, lover boy."

Hutch kissed him again, the mobile lips clinging to his eagerly. Starsky's hunger gave Hutch a quiver of anxiety.

 _Have to do this right._ He kept his movements slow and tender, using everything he'd ever learned about loving, but this time knowing for the first time the awed certainty that his love was fully returned. It was a heady feeling, and he found his hands were trembling as he removed Starsky's clothing, touching with reverence in his fingertips every warm, firm inch of skin that was revealed. Starsky arched his back, sucking in a harsh breath when Hutch stroked his nipples.

 _So responsive._ Hutch had witnessed Starsky's intensity before, but never this pure abandon. Starsky was letting go, letting Hutch love him in the way he'd always wanted to.

Hutch eased Starsky down onto the mattress, one hand behind his head, guiding it softly to the pillow, ignoring the slightly bemused smile. Then he turned on the bedside lamp and undressed rapidly, his eyes still on Starsky's nude, sprawling form. Starsky watched him strip, his eyes heavy-lidded with arousal.

Hutch hurriedly joined Starsky on the bed, wedding his body tight against Starsky's side. His breath caught, and he pressed his mouth against the round shoulder, trying to trap the words that wanted to come.

But Starsky pushed his head away. "What is it? Tell me, babe," he said.

Hutch grunted to clear his throat. "I thought you didn't like me to talk..." He stroked Starsky's thigh, entranced by the texture of soft hair over flesh and muscle.

"Only when I was worried you'd say something you didn't really mean."

It had the tone of a confession, and Hutch raised his head to look into Starsky's eyes.

"And now?" Hutch's hand crept closer to Starsky's groin. His leg twitched under Hutch's fingers.

"Now..." Starsky said, croaking a little, "...now I wanna hear it."

"Suppose I wanted to whisper stupid stuff to you, call you..." Hutch's voice dropped. "...sweetheart?"

A quick grin flashed over Starsky's face.

Hutch pulled away, but Starsky grabbed his shoulder, stopping the retreat. "Only," he said, voice serious, "if you're not jokin' when you say it."

So Hutch kissed him again, and called him sweetheart in a shaky voice, and Starsky didn't laugh. And for a while Hutch lost time in twining their bodies together, in rubbing his hardness against the matching silk of Starsky's cock.

With an iron will, Hutch forced himself to stop before he lost control. "Turn over," he said, rougher than he meant to. But Starsky just rolled onto his belly without a word, spreading his legs. For a moment, Hutch could only stare down at the sleek back and powerful buttocks. Then he leaned down and danced his tongue along Starsky's spine, following the trail down to the tight entrance. Hutch spread Starsky's cheeks and paid homage there, stroking the sensitive flesh with his tongue until Starsky was crying out wordlessly, lifting his hips in an offer Hutch was growing increasingly desperate to accept. He raised his head.

Starsky reached under the pillow and held up a tube. "Think you're gonna need this."

 _Planned this whole thing._ Hutch wasn't surprised. Or, maybe he was just used to Starsky's surprises, to the way the man always arranged things so effortlessly, handling him without ever seeming to.

Hutch uncapped the lubricant and teased Starsky's tight anus with slick fingers until it gave, opening to him. Starsky was moaning against the pillow and lifting his hips again. Hutch's cock twitched with need as he stroked the lube inside the heat of Starsky's body, thrusting his fingers in and out with ease while Starsky made deep, animal sounds.

"This way, baby," Hutch said, coaxing Starsky to lie on his back again. He wanted to see Starsky's expression, didn't want to risk hurting him in his passion. Starsky's face was dusky with desire, his pupils a wide circle darkening the blue of his eyes.

"God, you're beautiful."

"And you're pushing it, Blondie," Starsky said. "How long you gonna make me wait for this?" He reached down and captured Hutch's cock in his hand.

Hutch groaned. "D-don't! Jesus."

"Gimme the tube."

Hutch fumbled for the abandoned lube, handed it over, and resigned himself to the sweet torture as Starsky smoothed it on his aching cock. The delicate fingers seemed to know just how much pressure he could bear without exploding. Still, Hutch let out a relieved sigh when it was over.

Panting with need, he positioned Starsky's legs over his shoulders and moved in close, unable to believe they'd come to this, that Starsky wanted him this way. Hutch was shaking as he guided his cock to the hot opening that awaited him. He heard Starsky draw in another breath, and Hutch held his, too, then thrust inward, piercing the barrier easily, warmth taking in the head of his cock and wrapping it in pleasure.

"OH. Ohhh." Hutch felt sweat prickling along his hairline, his heartbeat racing at the feeling of Starsky taking him in. He heard Starsky moan, and looked down with concern.

Starsky had thrown his head back, his mouth moving. Hutch couldn't read his expression, and he halted in place, panting lightly. He took Starsky's cock into his hand, rubbing his thumb under the crown, and Starsky made the same, ragged sound.

Hutch smiled and stroked the rigid shaft as he shifted his hips, inching deeper, his cock singing at the sensation of snug warmth.

"Jesus. So incredible," he whispered. He stroked Starsky's cock, pulled back, and thrust again until he was fully inside. Then Hutch arched his back and began to pump smoothly, moaning praise when Starsky clenched around him.

"God. Hutch. God. Hutch," Starsky groaned. He shifted his legs lower, clamping them around Hutch's waist, pulling him closer. His eyes were wide, wild, his mouth open. Hutch released his cock to lean down all the way, melding their torsos together, resting his weight on his palms. He could feel Starsky's rigid erection riding between their bellies as he pounded with his hips, faster and faster.

"Loving you," Hutch gasped, his eyes closing. "Oh, Starsk."

"Say my name," Starsky gasped, a plea in his voice. "Say my real name."

Hutch's rhythm faltered in his surprise, and he paused, looking down. Starsky groaned and jerked his hips impatiently, but stared up at him with an intense look.

"Call me by my name. Just for once," Starsky said, demanding.

Hutch took a deep breath. "D-dave." It felt strange on his tongue.

But Starsky's eyes closed, and he sighed.

"Dave," Hutch whispered again, and he withdrew just far enough to touch Starsky's mouth with his own.

"Ken," Starsky said deliberately as he pulled away. Then his lips moved in a crooked grin. "Now fuck me good."

Hutch cock jumped futilely within the snugness of Starsky's body. Pulling back again, Hutch started to fuck in earnest, slamming hard in a powerful, hungry rhythm, until Starsky clutched at his forearms and yelled.

Hutch gave a hoarse shout of his own when he felt Starsky's muscles clenching hard around him, and then he felt the jagged pulse of Starsky's come against his belly. Hutch angled his hips, shortening his strokes, wanting to join him in that moment.

"Ohhhh." Hutch squeezed his eyes shut, focusing on his cock, which throbbed hard, and then he tipped over into insane pleasure, his very nerves humming as he came, spilling himself deep inside Starsky.

"My God," Hutch whispered, his arms trembling. "My God, I love you."

"Good thing," Starsky said weakly. "'Cause I love you so much my heart can't take it."

Hutch smiled. "Have to go easy on you then, old man." But it was Hutch who groaned as he withdrew, slumping down on the sweat-dampened sheets. He had just enough energy left to tilt his head for a final kiss. "Dave..." He sighed. "Don't know if I can do it."

"Do what?" Starsky's fingers had caught in the hair at Hutch's nape, and they stroked him there, making his neck tingle.

"Call you Dave here in bed, and then go into work and not screw us up," Hutch admitted.

"Yeah, I know. Me, neither." Starsky tugged insistently, and Hutch obliged him with another kiss. "I just wanted to hear it the once, you know?"

"I know. It's who we could've been. In a different life, maybe."

Starsky frowned, and Hutch let one finger trace the crinkle, trying to smooth it.

"This _is_ a different life," Starsky said after a long moment. "I died, remember? Hey, don't get tensed up like that. It's just the truth—this is the bonus round, babe. And I'm gonna make the most of it. With you."

Hutch's throat closed, but he choked out, "I'll try to give you everything you need."

Starsky grinned, his face looking as young as Teo's. "Better rest up, then."

~oOo~

Hutch dreamed of the road again, the chalky grit of clay dust in his mouth. Somehow, his wife had changed into the Lady of the Dead, holding a bleached skull in her right hand, a terrible smile on her bone-white face.

Heartsick, he turned and left her behind at the cemetery. As he trudged away, he could feel her rage and disappointment like the beating of the hot sun, and it seemed as if his life was pouring out with the sweat from his body.

But then something changed. A light breeze lifted the hair from his brow. Turning, he realized Starsky was walking beside him, his smile like a drink of cool water.

 _"You can stop walking, Hutch,"_ he said. _"We're already here."_

Hutch awoke from the dream to the sensation of a hand caressing his thigh and a hard cock trapped between the cheeks of his ass. The weather had broken at last, and the air blowing in the open window was a little too chilly, drifting across his chest and raising his nipples.

"You up?" Starsky said, but his hand was already moving to collect Hutch's cock.

Hutch mumbled something, still not quite awake, but willing to be if it meant more of Starsky's loving. He heard Starsky laugh softly behind him, and felt lips on his shoulder.

"Awake enough, huh? But still nice and relaxed..." Starsky's hand slid over Hutch's ass to slip between his cheeks.

Hutch wanted to mutter a protest that he wasn't _that_ awake, certainly not enough for what Starsky seemed to have in mind, but then lubed fingers slipped inside him, and his drowsy complaint was forgotten when they stroked him deep, triggering heat in his groin. Hutch moaned, instead, and Starsky laughed again, a rich chuckle.

"Batter up," he said, and the fingers were replaced by a hot, eager cock thrusting into Hutch from behind, possessing him whole. His back arched, but Starsky's grip on his hip kept him from moving away. And then the ache passed into flaring desire, and Hutch pushed back, surprised at his own eagerness to feel the hard cock moving inside him.

"That's it, baby," Starsky said, and he started rocking, his hand shifting to the base of Hutch's cock, fingers capturing his balls. "Jesus, you're hot."

Hutch cried out and hooked his leg back over Starsky's thigh, trying to pull him in deeper.

Starsky groaned, squeezing Hutch's cock, stroking him fast. He panted in Hutch's ear, "You are one sweet fuck, Hutchinson."

Hutch blushed deeply, heat traveling over his whole body. He thought as he came, trembling helplessly around Starsky's cock, that there was a good chance his fever was back.

And this time, he knew it would never leave him.

 **  
_Fin._   
**

  


September 30, 2006  
San Francisco, CA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More about el Dia de los Muertos:  
> http://www.azcentral.com/ent/dead
> 
> Two skulls image: http://blancascreations.com  
> Skeleton image: http://4forty4.com/eckleburg/?m=200511  
> Title image: http://esperanzaclothing.easystorecreator.net
> 
> This story is a shameless indulgence in my desire to see Hutch sweaty and feverish. As such, it possibly contains some inaccuracies pertaining to how quickly the onset of the jaw-muscle spasms might occur. (Medical sites say 1-3 days). But tough noogies.
> 
> In all else, I tried to be as accurate as possible in portraying the special love that is between the two policemens.


End file.
